Flesh
by Painthedark
Summary: Masrur and Sharrkan are on the bed, with gold chains and... gold sounds.


The mad sound of the golden chain against the blankets, like the soft coils of a snake, is the only thing their ears can perceive. It is the only discordant note in a pentagram made up by the _small_ dark growls of a beast and their hot sighs.

"Oh, Mas–..!" Sheets can no longer cover his amber back bent outwards, supported by two trembling arms, and the elbows awfully close to collapse under the excitement.

The flickering light of the oil lamp makes the sharper shadows and the sweat more polished, his red hair are like fire ready to melt the bronze. Masrur is stretched over Sharrkan's body, managing to taste the sweat of his lover with his tongue.

The redhead's hands are clinging to his dark thighs, taut under his fingertips which push and redden the skin below, while his tongue moves around a small soft edge, just above the small, pure, _virginal_, white hairs. Not so virginal, indeed. Sharrkan's body trembles like a kitten waiting for the touch of his master, with an excited smile on his soft lips, which Masrur could never miss. He is lifting up a weightless Sharrkan now, moving his lips around the navel, finding that easy enough. Less easier is stopping Sharrkan's _mmhs_, sighs, even his dark hands which seem to appreciate the Fanalis red hair instead of the white sheets. They touch, snatch perhaps, they cling with primordial need of him.

"M-Masrur, oh- _gosh_, not there, not- _ah!_" The green eyed boy's weak point has just been found with impressive ease, even if the cry which echoes in the room is caused by a different touch, a colder one: Masrur's piercing on his chin triggers shivers of pleasure, slipping through Sharrkan's hard on, his painful nerves and bones... and flesh. A flesh so weak now that it is melting like snow, leaving the grip on the redhead and the tongue on his body be, growing up with pleasure, even when his liquid green eyes, the ones of an exiled prince – full of lust though – meet with the molten gold of a beast, a lion. Hungry for his flesh, against all good manners.

No words, and if only Masrur's lips tried to open up to make a sound, Sharrkan's tapered index finger – as his calves around the strong thighs – would stop it. He is so different from all the others white-skinned, without imperfections or scars, who had the honor of touching his sheets.

At first he smiles towards some fiery red hair, raising the cornes of his lips, then he gives the same expression to the Fanalis' face. He finds a complicit smile on Masrur's lips, which make him speak straight against his chin, marring the piercing with the hot breath of someone who expects the sun to reach the orgasm.

"How did you know that your tongue would drive me crazy, mh? Have you been spying on me, Masrur...? Did you come here and see how I touch myself under the blankets...?_ Do you want me to cry out your name?_" No one could sound more poisonous to Masrur's ears, like serpentine coils which he can not get rid of, the same ones which tighten him up and then go meeting the fire with a single cock stroke. No answer: just a low gluttural growl dropped against white and sweaty hair, mixing with the shaking, the scent of cinnamon and the depths of the forest, wich seems to overwhelm everything and everyone.

The heat is intoxicating and the muscles, now contracted, make him uncapable of reasoning: Masrur's teeth snash, and the first thrust is not fluid but violent, brutal, strong enough to let Sharrkan's hand move from the red hair to the back, to his broad and sweaty shoulders, red for the nails left there, in silent screams.

"Shut up." No thrust can match Masrur's, no thighs can support that almost dead weight, slumped on his dick and against his flat stomach; no hand could grasp Sharrkan with the same possessiveness of his, as strong as marble, while the wet noise of their skin _slapping _wants them to reach one thing and only.

And how could he stop Sharrkan's laugh, how could he prevent him from sinking his face in the redhead's thick nech, swollend with excitement, to mourn on the marks left from before? "If you talked more, you would be – _ah!_ – a perfect husband." Sharrkan's affront resounds in the air like the slap on Masrur's buttocks, wrapping his arms around the General's neck. He is always so _amazing, _rubbing that dick always too big for anyone but perfect for whoever is able to sway on it, withstanding the heat of his body, stretched to the limit.

" … " There is no reply from Masrur. He merely lookes at him, narrowing his predatory eyes, like a big cat, willing to keep going on forever, making space for himself in Sharrkan, waiting and picturing in his mind what comes next. In fact in his mind there are many things going on: his reddened ear, the rippling muscles and the smirk on his lips surely mean the approach of his climax. He senses that in his body, ready to come out.

"I should always keep your mouth busy, so you can not get married." Sharrkan bites his ear and Masrur shivers, small plates of gold left of his eyes. The blankets are all on the ground, the chain rolls all over and the mattres can not menage to cover any moan nor growl.

Sharrkan is now lying on his back on the bed, legs wrapped around Masrur's hips, feet planted in the buttocks to push him even more inside. The headboard hits against the back of his head, but he only waits, closing his eyes.

But there is no more pressure on his skin and a gasp of lack goes together with Masrur's dick slipping off from his body. Why should he stop...? "Wha– _ahn!_" His orgasm comes when he is defenseless, with Masrur's rough tongue licking around his belly button.

He did not want to come that way, clutching damp sheets, arching his back and bending his toes, throwing a scream worthy of one of those filthy women, whores a prince would never go with. But he has become such a great _whore_ that the orgasm still makes him shiver all over, rolling on his side, away from the edge of the bed.

Without thinking he goes protecting his belly, frightened by a possibile return of Masrur's tongue which he sees tickling the piercing from the inside. Not a word from him, not a look, just the call of his desire. And for the Fanalis man, who never really liked noise, the sound of his dick slipping in that always so loudy mouth of Sharrkan makes him smile. Hidden, unseen... as always. Just a hand through the white hair, to let everything go.

"_Shut up_."


End file.
